Adventures of Lord Althalos
by skywriterman
Summary: This is my first story I have ever posted so I hope you like the intro. Please comment and I will accept all criticism because I only want to improve my writing skills in things that I actually like to write about. Thank you, much appreciated.


The adventures of the Lord Althalos

This is my first time writing somewhat of a lore novel. I play WOW and I would just love to write about my adventures that I have with some of the great people I have met and joined in their quest to become the greatest of warriors WOW has to offer.

The wind was just beging to pick up on the harbors of Teldrassil. Althalos was a survivor of the recent invasion of Gilneas by the Undead horde ruled by Sylvanas Windrunner. He prefered his human form over the savage Worgen form that had been forced upon him before the drums of war had rung through the air. Although medicine and many enchantments had allowed him to regain his thoughts over his unsaciable bloodlust, it could never be fully quenched. Althalos had survived many battles, armed in solid plate armour, painted red, black, and dull greys, with a belt that held the canine teeth of fellow comrades that had fallen before him. Held into his legplates three dagger posioned from the venom of hydras. A warrior in his own right, a feared opponent that only the ignorant or highly ranked would challenge.

Althalos travelled to the Eastern plague lands, where he had heard rumors of the lich kings forces of the scourge marching their plagued bones across the land still. Asked by the paladin Tirion Fordring to aid the cause in cleansing the land, King Varian Wrynn had made it clear that it would bring honor to his name, and a sure bloody battle would ensue. Not fearing the scourge, Althalos journeyed to the Ruines of the Scarlet Enclanve to cleanse the place of all scourge. Althalos travelled alongside a small platoon of Human paladins, and priests ready to lay their lives down for the mission. Armed in robes and plate armour they appeared to have seen at least some fighting before, but Althalos was always careful with whom he travelled with, uncomfortable with anybody he could not judge the extent of their fighting skills.

Just a couple of miles away from the East Wall Tower, the plaguelands had grown quiet. Althalos had become weary of his surrending. No signs of life could be heard or seen. The plaguelands had been filled with plagued bears, deer. hounds and wretched maggots. The woods however had become silent, an enroaching ill tainted air had surronded the platooon, and quickly become cautious of the situation they had become. Althalos with a loud concerned voice had yelled out a command to square up and prepare for battle. Unsure of the enemy Althalos readied himself for any possibility, his mighty sword wretched made a moaning noise as if it was alive, as if it could feel the tainted air around it. Althalos could feel his skin crawl as he shifted to his worgen form, his lust for blood rising as the scent of rotting flesh approached him. He had fought the scourge in many places and they were not all the difficult to fight, however if they had been outnumbered the battle could be turned around very quickly in favor of the scourge who had seemed to have an endless number of minions.

Althalos turned around as he could hear the slight whispers of something speaking. He narrowed his vision, and listened attempting to hear the number of enemies that approached him. His worgen form had given him beastial senses and that had helped him through his many battles. His eyes grew wide, as he was only a second to late to realise what was going on, he screamed for the preists to put sheild up for the group. Four large fireballs had been cast upon the platoon. Each one landing before the preists could react, dismayed an undead team had been upon the humans. Althalos quickly distanced himself from the target of the fireballs. He quickly glanced behind him, to witness the entrapment of the human platoon. Arcane magic as well as the black magic from warlock studies had quickly destroyed the small army to cleanse the ruins. Althalos knew this was no time for him to fight, outnumbered and probable outclassed as well, he knew there had to be a general nearby to have this many undead in one area. In unfamiliar territory he began to run toward the ruins, knowing just a little ways north west would be the Light's Hope Chappel were he could gain protection and be safe. Running through the forest snapping branches fleeing from his enemies, he did not notice the ambush waiting for him. Peircing Arrows lunged out, just in his field of vision, attempting to avoid them he could only dodge one, the other had been implanted into his right shoulder, dropping his sword Wretched on the ground he kept running. The rush of being hunted kicked in, his feral insitncts to survive led him to run faster on all fours. The day was not his. A scourge Grotesque had lunged his axe toward Althalos, clipping his leg cuasing him to lose a large amount of blood. A scourge force had been approaching, Althalos knew this is where he would die, but he would not die without a fight. Carefully dragging himself to a tree, he sat up against it. Pulled out his daggers and readied himself for his final stand of life.

Althalos knew the scourge knew of his presence, however they did not want him dead yet for some reason, so none of them approached him. He lowered his arms and listened to the forest. From the skirmish that attacked his platoon earlier sounded much larger now, like a stampeding army, rushing for battle. Althalos noticed his surrondings more, he had made it to the ruins, where his mission was, an open field with a single church, ruined by famine and time. Moss covered it in several places, the glass all shattered and sprawled on the ground. The Army of undead had cleared the trees and he noticed that no matter what, his small batallion of holy warriors had been sent on a death march. The Scourge appeared, enroaching from the ground. Hundres of undead minions cracking their rotted bones, holding axes, rusty swords and bows. A voice, calm but sturdy whispered itself through the thoughts of Althalos. "Your king, sits on his throne. While he sends his men, to fight this". The voice speaks and Althalos can feel it through his entire body, from his flesh to his bones. The War between the Undead and Scourge begin. Undead mages and warlocks bring fire upon the foward flanks of the scourge however their sheer force in numbers still marches forward. Undead warriors force their way into the mighty scourge and start piling skulls onto the blood soaked ground. Time passes slowly and the war continues as blood from both sides floods the land, the whispers inside Althalos grow louder. "I feel your lust for blood, I can give the power to fill your need to kill. Witness the hallowed ground you lay on. Death and Plague will cover this world, you will become my champion of death and darkness". The voice became more focused, it rattled in his mind. It intrigued him, he wanted nothing but strength, he wanted the power to crush his enemies, he wanted no weakness.

The Undead army grew weaker and weaker as time passed. The Scourge grew and grew it seemed as the battle continued. Althalos was losing to much blood and would surely die soon. He watched, with his final breathes, the slaughtering of the undead army that had foolishly challenged the might of the scourge. He layed his head back and watched as a lowly minion of the scourge came closer to him, with his own sword, the one he had dropped from the arrow. His sword Wretched, he could feel it mourn and bellow even in the hands of the rotting flesh bag that held it. He felt it peirce his heart, the pain flowed through him and he let out a peircing howl. However even in his dieing moments, he felt a newness to himself. A begining instead of an ending. He could feel himself losing control. In his final moments he could hear the voice one last time. "Will you rise to become a champion of my legion? Will you rise to become stronger then your pathetic being now? Rise! my champion! Live again to soak azeroth in the blood of all living creatures!" Althalos could feel the voice vibrating and coursing through his veins and what blood he had left. He could only think of one word, and that would be to RISE.


End file.
